sakusa kiyoomi doesn't cry. that's something that atsumu knows for sure.

when they lose a game, when he argues with his cousin, when a fan says something nasty - sakusa doesn't cry.

so then why, atsumu wonders, are omi's shoulders shaking? why is his head bowed?

why won't he make eye contact with atsumu?

"is it me?"

a mere croak. rough, choked, accompanied with a wet sniffle. atsumu can't see omi's face, but he knows that it must be twisted tight and his eyes must be squeezed shut.

"omi-"

"just answer me, miya. is it me?"

miya. it sits heavy on atsumu's heart. miya. atsumu hasn't been miya in months; in over a year. miya sounds like a spit, like an eyeroll, like unhappiness and desperation. miya doesn't sound like a synonym for love and mine.

and atsumu has gotten used to that these past few months.

"is what you, omi?"

omi is hurting and atsumu doesn't want to make that worse, so even though it stings when omi backs away from him, atsumu stands his ground.

"omiomi. baby, is /what/ you?"

kiyoomi sounds very tired when he speaks again. with his head suddenly raised, atsumu can see omi's red-rimmed eyes and dampened lashes; can read the resignation and misery radiating from him.

"the reason you don't say 'i love you'. is it because of me? am i..."

unloveable?

it shakes atsumu to the core.

am i unloveable?

the same phrase that sunk deep beneath atsumu's skin to lie dormant & dangerous around his bones. the same phrase that lowered itself into atsumu's marrow. the same phrase that settled down within atsumu & said "hello, i'm here."

"no," says atsumu. unbidden, he takes a step forward. omi doesn't flinch this time so atsumu takes omi's hands between his.

"kiyoomi, no. no, it's not you."

"right. it's not me - it's you."

dry, a wet laugh. bone-deep exhaustion.

atsumu frowns.

"hey." he presses their foreheads together and watches how kiyoomi's eyes fall shut immediately. though omi's cheeks aren't tear-stained, atsumu cups them all the same; brushes his thumb along that familiar, warm curve.

"omi," he says, "i was scared."

omi doesn't speak.

"i'm /still/ scared. i'm scared i'm going to wake up one day and you're gonna realise you don't love me."

omi tugs away with a little grunt, eyes sharper than before and just a little bit furious. he's hurting and it makes atsumu's heart ache.

"i say 'i love you' every morning," omi bites, "and not once have you ever said it back. you think i'm going to /leave/ you?"

atsumu soothes him with gentle hands against his cheeks and draws him back in close. his omi. who's trusting him with his vulnerabilities.

why can't atsumu do the same?

so, he swallows, tilts their foreheads back together and tries so hard to keep their eye contact. but it's too much and his cheeks and ears burn and he whines, letting his eyes fall shut.

"kiyoomi. omiomi. i ..."

am i unloveable?

omi, in the mornings, holding him. kissing him. inviting him into his home. omi, in the midday sun, laughing at him. watching him cook. teasing him. omi, in the evenings, humming off-key jingles. rearranging the couch pillows. letting atsumu lie on him.

it's suddenly so easy.

"i love you, kiyoomi," atsumu says. "i love you."

and it's enough, for now. later, he'll cuddle into kiyoomi's side and whisper his fears and ask omi not to make fun of him. and, later, omi will look affronted and say, flatly, "i'd never make fun of this."

but that's for later. and this is for now.

"i love you, kiyoomi," atsumu whispers, and he watches a smile break out across omi's face. beautiful and breathtaking.

"atsumu," kiyoomi breathes. "i love you too."